I know this isn’t timely. I know many of you are seriously sick of hearing about the Winter Classic at this point, so if you're still reading this blog, well I am incredibly honored and flattered. And I thank you in advance. If you’re looking at this blog now and thinking “This is the last d.a.y.u.m. Winter Classic Blog I will ever read”, then I _beg you_, stop reading, and wait. jleWings has one of her amazing photo blogs coming. I’ve seen the pics and I know the stories. Her blog is gonna be far better than this albatross I have labored unsuccessfully over for three days.
Oh yea _*Caveat Reador!*_ I recommend you grab a frosty bevvie, a tasty snack and your most comfy chair, this isn’t a short one. (quelle surprise) While I have not beaten 22’s legendary 30 MS Word pages of blog (the “Cold” Standard), it just seems I have no use in my life for the concept of brevity. Frankly I blame all of you, your enablers, every last one of you.
Oh- I am really leaving the pictorial to jleWings- who has amazing pics from this day, but for the sake of giving you a potty break and in order to beef this thing up so I can at least pay homage to 22’s epic 30 page blog, there are a few pics and videos…
So are we all strapped in cats and pajamas? Well, hold on to your black cowboy hats and your candy cane striped leggings, I hope you enjoy this first chapter in jleWings and Juice’s Puck Bunnyhood of the Traveling Zetterberg Hockey Pants.
_And scene:_
Short blond Los Angelean (by way of Detroit), with way too much carry-on luggage, in worn, stained and spattered Uggs, a curious white fuzzy beret, glasses, pigs and red pea coat wears a serene, almost knowing smile as she stares out the window at Gate 75A of Chicago’s O’Hare on January 3rd, occasionally looking down at her laptop, slowly pecking away…
For days now, I have let this experience churn in my head and heart. Wanting to savor it and hold on as long as I could.
Trying to find the string of adjectives that can adequately describe how it all felt. I left Chicago convinced that there is no word or phrase in the English language that can adequately describe what it felt like in my head and heart to be at the 2009 Winter Classic.
[Insert “No one wants to know what it feels like in that beret covered head of yours anyway Jooce” joke here.]
_Amazing, Overwhelming, Epic._ These words, some of my favorite descriptors, almost cheapen the feeling.
The closest I can get to describing it is to ask you to imagine spending an entire day suspended in that moment right after you first gasp as the beauty of a Fiji lagoon, the sun coming up over Mt. Kilimanjaro or maybe what it feels like when you first lay eyes on your soulmate.
I’ve experienced none of these things of course. But I can _imagine_ what such moments would feel like. That sort of holding your breath, adrenaline fueled, realization of utter joy.
This was a day and a game unlike any other I’ve experienced and I have some pretty good Red Wing memories. It doesn’t beat Game 4 in 1997 or seeing Vladdie hold the cup in 1998, but its right up there.
There was something more than the energy of a frozen city borough coming alive in the dead of winter at a historic baseball field, more than the buzz of thousands of excited fans from both sides of the Six electrifying the air. Even the sight of the packed Wrigley stands, rooftops and bleachers, the strains of “Oh Canada” being sung by a good number in the crowd, an Air Force fly-by, a Red Wing win with a perfect Datsyukian deke: all chill invoking events.
Despite the delicious double entendre, chills can’t fully account for the way I felt this day.
Even more impressive to me, is that this day exceeded my unbelievably high expectations (You don't leave sunshine and 70's for subzero and windchills just for any hockey game chickadees). I now know that when I see a game, I want to feel the cold on my cheeks, see my breath, hear the echo of skate blade to ice against the boards. Hear the shouts of the players quickly dissipate into open air. I’ve come to realize the atmosphere of the outdoor forum allows the fans to participate in ways an arena game cannot.
Arena games will likely always feel slightly artificial for me now.
More importantly, as I stood in my seat, mere yards from my beloved Red Wings surrounded by Wings and Hawk and hockey fans from all over, I realized that this New Year’s game brings player and fan, coach and owner back to the essence of hockey.
Maybe the way to describe this day is to call it the essence of hockey. Hmm, its sentimental, but I think its been done.
With each goal horn, crowd roar, “Let’s Go Red Wings” chant, each Babcockian High Noon swagger back to the dugout, each Draper face off, catching a grin exchanged between Lilja and Homer, watching a father help his son carry the stick Jiri Hudler just gave him, a little choked gasp escaped my throat, tears briefly welled in my eyes. Every time the crowd leapt to its feet or Nic Lidstrom looked us in the eye as he made his way into the locker room, for every panoramic glance around the field at the 40,000 strong that came to see this game, more tears, more lovely little heartbreaks. Can your heart break in a good way? I think it can. Maybe it’s more like a “heartburst”.
I feel _beyond_ lucky to have had this opportunity, really it was almost surreal.
Maybe that is the way to describe this whole experience:
*Surreal, sentimental, joyous – wonderfully heartbursting.*
Queue the Coltrane please.
I wish I could have come up with five descriptors whose first letters spelled out the acronym “S.A.P.P.Y” “S.S.J.W.H” doesn’t spell anything good. Sigh.
*GETTING TO THE GAME- FEAR OF FLYING? MORE LIKE FEAR OF FREEZING.*
I landed in Chicago on New Years Eve, to what apparently was the first sunny sky they had seen in quite some time. Thrilled to see my friend the sun. She turns out to have been a cruel illusion.
That first breath of Chicago air I pulled into my lungs halted me in my tracks, choked me and stopped my respiratory system, um “cold”. Arctic blast rushing in to freeze all my bronchi. HEDHS. _Now_ I remember what cold feels like. And what pollution tastes like- let me tell you LA air has nothing on the terrible taste of Chicago exhaust fumes trapped at surface level by dense arctic air.
I barely had time to text JleWings: “Its ‘effing’ cold” before she pulled up in her awesomely rad red ride, complete with Red Wing logo covering the back window. Her timing was spot on money, because my gloveless fingers were too frozen to finish the text. And I loved tooling down I-90 toward the city with that logo on our car!
But poor Jle. She had to listen to me catatonically repeat “its sooo cold” over and over as I directed every last heating vent toward me, stuck my fingers in the vents all the way to the hotel. She was a great sport.
Once we got to the hotel, Jle handed me a present! OOOOOHHH, presents!!! This was starting out to be an excellent adventure! Jle’s wonderful Mum made me the most gorgeous pair of ultra warm, fully fleece lined, woolen mittens in Red and Black. Thank you Jle’s Mum! They are amazing. Even though I don’t expect to ever need them again, I love them so much. What a thoughtful, generous gift.
We had a couple agenda items for New Years Eve, including the unstated agreement to “Turn the mother out” by midnight at a lovely soiree hosted by my darling Chicago friends Karl and Jeff.
Just so you know, “Turn(ing) the mother out” for Jle and I involved cute clothes, lots of champagne and sparkles.
First on agenda: Wrigley drive-by for atmosphere, quick shopping trip, food and sign making.
Sign making was “hi-larionov-ous” (gratitude to V for giving me this phrase).
Jle is the Martha Stewart of sign making! She had no less than 4 colors of sparkles, and about 300 magic markers. I’m still covered with sparkles, I find them in my hair and everything I packed for that trip is lousy with red and silver sparkles. It was worth it, here is the product of our labor:
We accomplished most of our agenda (don’t get me started on trying to find food downtown), and were in a cab back to the Hotel, head to pillows by about 1:30 am, with visions of Red Wing goals dancing in our heads. Giddy as we were, we had no idea what the next day would bring.
*9 AM- GAME DAY- “Could I be _wearin’_ anymore clothes?” p.s.: Commando was NOT an option.*
Wardrobe choices warranted significant attention. While you may already know (and be sick of hearing) that I had been obsessing for weeks about staying warm, what you might not know the source of such dramatic and seemingly pathetic anxiety. You see, it was my inability to handle frigid cold that drove me from the Midwest to begin with. Throughout Midwest winters, I used to suffer terrible, constant headaches from being exposed to sub-zero winds. I spent most Decembers, Januarys and Februarys shivering like a Chihuahua- No joke.
In my last year in the “D”, I would wear long johns under my clothes. And even at work I would wear fingerless gloves and scarves- but I never felt warm. Within moments of the cold air hitting my face, a terrible headache would ensue for the rest of the day. Some people are just total wusses- I’m woman enough to admit it.
So while prior to this trip I admittedly could no longer remember what it was like to be frigidly cold, I was instantly reminded upon setting foot outside O’Hare. Accordingly I had quite a bit of anxiety about the day’s weather.
Jle and I started to layer: She had tights and thermals and jeans, thermal top, long sleeve T, Her Zetterberg jersey, a Red Wings hoodie, a yellow quilted vest and a Columbia winter coat, her Red Wings cap, a pair of those amazing mittens her mom made, a scarf, three pairs of socks and boots. She could barely put her arms down, ala Randy from “A Christmas Story”. It was hysterical. I have photos of the layering process. No, you may not see them.
You’ll shoot your eye out…
I was a bit worried because Jle had a LOT more clothing on her person than I had in my whole suitcase and she _likes_ the cold! I could have pulled a “Joey”, wearing everything in my suitcase, and not have had as much clothing on as Jle.
So I took her sage advice to put my only pair of tights under my thermals- Let me tell you ladies- the “Spanx” brand of tight- absolutely amazing, not just for keeping you belly flat! So me: tights, thermals, fleece lined snowboard pants, those disposable heat packets in each of my back pockets, a long sleeve T, turtleneck sweater, my 1998 playoff issued Igor Larionov Sweater, a scarf, my White fuzzy beret, my red wool peacoat, two pairs of socks and my Uggs.
_A Beret, Juice? A BERET? After all the whining you’ve done about fear of cold? Come on! You should have carried a sparkly pink sign that says “I’m a shallow LA Hypocrite!”_
I felt like such a West Coast Homer, but I LOVE that beret, and I never get the chance to wear it! It was the one fashion choice I could not justify and could not abandon.
My Uggs got trashed. I’m hugely bummed- it was my own fault. I kept kicking my own beers and hot peppermint chocolates over.
Jle and I took a good look at each other fully layered, already sweating in that hotel room, started laughing, grabbed our signs, cameras, phones, my flask, all our little hand and foot warmers, tissue, money, chapstick, cold medicine, and most importantly:
*TICKETS*
And we headed out to hail a cab for Wrigley, thinking we were headed out “early” to find breakfast and maybe have a Hot Toddy. We completely underestimated the Wrigleyville party factor….
While its true there Ain’t no Party like a Detroit Party, the cats in Wrigleyville can, in fact, turn the mother out.
*10:00 CAB RIDE INTO WRIGLEYVILLE*
Wrigelyville was one huge frat row party. These people were partying OUTSIDE in the dead of winter. Wow Midwesterners are tough. We got dropped several blocks from the stadium and walked through the neighborhoods. Streets were lousy with Wing and Hawk fans, brownstones overflowing with outdoor parties, kegs on the lawns, windows framed with Wing and Hawk flags. It looked like East Lansing and South Bend all rolled together on a Saturday game day. I felt like I was about 18 years old again.
Jle and I were “invited” into a keg party, but after seeing only Blackhawk jerseys and flags, we though better of the idea, envisioning a lynching, or mugging or some sick sacrifice to the Wrigley gods. We wisely opted to walk on by.
We had perma-smiles as we strolled looking for food and a party store, we kept looking at each other with giggly amazement as wave after wave of realization that “We are really going to the Classic” began to break overhead. And left, it was a hard left break off the point. Can else tell whether that is a surf of hockey descriptor? Does it matter?
You couldn’t have wiped my smile from my face if you threatened to dump a pepsi cola on my head… well maybe, stay tuned to find out.
Anyone need a potty break? Go ahead, it will still be here when you get back.
The energy was incredible. The air was crisp and there was surprisingly little wind. I took my coat off.
*I know!!!!!*
I had to. You couldn’t see my Larionov sweater with the coat on. And well, rest of the outfit, the signs, Jle's Red Wing gear, our face stickers, well they just wasn’t enough - I felt - for people to decipher our fan loyalties.
The pre-game banter with Hawks fans was silly and in good humor. We had fun getting sassed by the bouncers in the bars, who would pretend to refuse us entry. In fact, it wouldn’t be until Hawk fans got drunk and their team was getting spanked that it turned ugly. More on my goon altercation later though.
Boy were Jle and I popular. A function of the combination of the masterpiece signs, my loud mouth and the fact that not many women were braving this day. Either that or my fuzzy beret. No one can resist a fuzzy beret.
Our search for food was disastrous and I was losing my mind about eating. The only place we could get near was McDonalds, which had a line extending down the street both before and after the game. Despite not having had a meal since 7 pm (pacific) on 12/30, I was not willing to wait in that line for soggy fries and an apple pie, there was too much to see and do. We headed into Wrigley.
*OUR SEATS*
Jle and I took a HUGE gamble on this game. We bought our tix on Stub Hub, the very cheapest seats offered and the listing stated that they were “limited viewing/partially obstructed”. Despite copious research, we entered the stadium not knowing whether we’d see any of the game at all. We didn’t know what we’d encounter once we found our seats.
The Wrigley concourse was decorated with cool individual player banners. I wanted to take one home. History seeped from the hallowed walls, only to be over powered by the smell of fried food. The stench of bratwurst and fried onion was really, really gross as the cold outdoor air trapped the cooking smells in the concourse. You could not escape it, you could not conquer it. I hate smelling like food. Ugh! We quickly moved through the crowd.
Jle and I were on an anxious mission to see our seats. So we plowed through to Club Section Osgood which took us down a ramp, past the “Interview Area”. As soon as I saw the "Interview Area" sign, I barely had time to knock the needle off the record as I purposefully walked right up to the interview room, pulled the handle and took two steps in as though I belonged. One guy manned the security post, I paid him no mind. He didn’t stop me.
Oh yea- I was going for it- you didn’t expect anything less did ya? Please, you would have done it too.
Sadly, there wasn’t any interviews going on, or I would have abandoned Jle to sneak in and try to ask a question. (Queue Dream Sequence:)
“Coach Babcock: Andreas Lilja has been stepping it up for your team lately, do you think that the fact that he is so incredibly hot has anything to do with it? What about Nic Lids, Hank Zetterberg, the whole team – really do you think their hotness factors in their total domination of the League?”
Come on people. Like _*that*_ is really the question I would have asked. You should know me better. I would have asked for one of the black cowboy hats. _*That*_ is what I would have asked for.
I turned around, headed out of the room and said to Jle “If there had been an interview going on, I would have abandoned you. I’m sorry.”
She laughed and said “Juice, I would have been right behind you!”
That's my girl. I wonder what question SHE would have asked…
And then we made our way out to our seats. They were *MINT.* Here was our view:.
*MINT 500*, baby.
5 rows up, right over the away team dugout where the Red Wings would exit and enter the locker rooms. Less than a pitcher’s fast ball from the goal end of the rink. No obstruction.
The only thing that must have counted for obstruction was that we did not see the ice surface because of the boards. But we were so close. _So close._ How had this happened?
We could not believe it. I whispered to Jle:
“Holy “effing” ship, Jelly. Our boys will be right here within 15 feet of us.”
She could not believe it either. We just stood there with the goofy grins, looking around, taking it all in.
The players were warming up on the ice when I had what Jle could refer to as a “AHL Meltdown”. For some reason having all that crap with me: signs, the give away binoculars from Reebok, camera, cell phone, my ticket, beret, and having taken off my coat, I just could not get organized in my seat enough and threw a bit of a hissy fit about the signs. I’ll leave it to Jle to fill you in on the real story on that, only saying in my defense that, by 11 AM (central) Jan. 1 all I had eaten in the last 39 hours was a 4”x 4” appetizer “pizza”, champagne and 5 chocolates. And I get irrational when I haven’t eaten.
The Wings began to head off the ice after warm ups and toward us. Jle and I rushed down to the dugout where we were the only Red Wing fans.
This is where we made our presence known. (ahem) We began whooping and hollering and calling every player, coach and manager out by name, every player except one…
Please see Jess’ Open Letter to Darren McCarty blog and know that the *depth* of shame, remorse and embarrassment we both feel at not having recognized one of our ALL TIME favorite players may never fully dissipate.
In between snapping photos, we stood calling out to our boys by name: “Now Homer, Now Zetter, Now Rafalski, Now Conklin, On Comet (its what we call Drapes because he’s so fast) On Jiri, On Lilja, On Lidstrom.”
Apparently we were quite, um “noticeable”, because B-Raf himself pulled his practice cap off and tossed it to me! HEDHS yes- it was a little sweaty, but a VERY cool souvenir!
Then Drapes came up and we were chanting “Draper, Kristo, Drapes” and he tossed Jle a practice puck.
So killah. We were thrilled. We jumped up and down like kids and cheered. I like to think it was at this moment that D-Mac slipped by us unnoticed, but Jle has photographic evidence to the contrary.
Then I made friends with a very cool reporter for Bloomberg by the name of Mike Buteau, who sent me the picture of Rafs tossing me the hat. Very cool, read his stuff, he is a genius.
*THE FANFARE*
The pre-game brew Ha-ha was less brew, more Ha-awww. It had something for everyone, cute kids in replica uniforms, ice girls, Legends of Hockey and Baseball, fireworks and sonic boom fly-bys. I didn’t pay attention to much of it. Instead Jle and I (along with Colin and Talya's crew) were too busy looking for the hot chocolate vendor and firing back a “Let’s Go Red Wings” or “We got the Cup” for every chant of “Detroit Sucks”.
I have to say that no matter what the game or where I’ve seen the Wings play- from the Joe to the Pond, you never hear Detroit fans denigrating other teams or cities with a chant like that. One more reason to add to the seemingly infinite list of reasons why Detroit is Hockeytown: Wings fans have class and we have solid respect for the rest of the league. (Except the Ducks, we hate the Ducks. And Claude Le Mew, we hate Claude Le Mew.)
I also have to say that “Day-um, I am a very very (very) loud chicka. I kind of feel bad for the people that have to go to games with me or sit near me. I wish I could help it. I can’t. I gave Jle 5-2 odds that I’d lose my voice by the second period. She won the bet.
Luckily Jle didn’t seem to care about my loud mouth (or maybe she did but could not get a word in edgewise, IDK…). As I see it, she was too obsessed with the red and white striped socks, leg warmers, leggings the Wings were wearing to notice. We both agreed that they looked like candy canes and were basically ridiculous. Trouble is, once you noticed how silly they looked, the train wreck effect took hold and you could not stop staring.
Seriously Mr. Paul Boyer, trainer extraordinaire, you know I have nothing but mad love for you, but our boys _already_ look kinda Santa Claus-y when they wear all red, did you have to turn them into elves/Hamburglers for _this_ Game??? They looked like they came straight from an “Elf yourself” convention….
_Sigh._ At least they weren’t in Power Blue Sweaters.
*THE FANS*
Holy Snickers people, we made so many friends! Mike the reporter; Colin from Ontario, Talya, a lawyer from Detroit sporting a vintage Wingnut Hat that brought yet another tear to my eye. CEREAL- I haven’t seen one of those since 1998.
A little kid in a Rangers sweater with dad in a Blackhawks sweater, an MSU Spartan, Hawk Fans and even two super cool New Jersey Devils fans who sat immediately in from of us and so patiently tolerated mine and Jle’ very enthusiastic support of our Wings.
Only one individual in attendance at the game caused a problem.
Why do you people always assume its me?
Second period break, as Draper heads back to dugout, I’m doing my best cheerleader imitation, Jle is right beside me. We hear someone say something not so nice to Draper. Still we aren’t sure if it’s an insult, so I turn to look. He was creepy with an orange hat and a scrawny beard. Then the guy says something that clarifies its an insult, and Jooce reacts…
I said something completely inappropriate, given that I had not checked first to see if children were present. That is the thing about reacting, it tends to be spontaneous, without forethought. I promptly set about, apologizing to those around me, when Orange cap Deuce Bag then screams:
“Eurotrash” to a Red Wing.
And I once more responded. OcDB came right at me with his Pepsi bottle poised over my head. I had three simultaneous thoughts: (1) “How many punches could I get in before he hit back or I got dragged off of him”; (2) “Pepsi would _ruin_ my beret” and (3) “Don’t get thrown out of the game Jooce. Don’t get thrown out of the game.” So I stood there glaring waiting to see if he was as spineless as he had already made himself out to be. He said “That’s what I thought.” and walked away. True, it was too cold to sit through a period with a wet head and too important a game to get thrown out, but to this day I kind of wish I had taken a swing. I have a serious right jab. It would have made HNIC for sure. On the other hand, I would never again be able to write another blog about how the game doesn’t need fighting.
But other than that, we really didn’t see any other total and complete dingle berries. The stands were packed with fans of the sport and the league- Rangers, Habs, Bruin sweaters, and I have mad love for the Blackhawks fan sporting the Roenick jersey- but not as much as for the extraordinarily cool chicka in the front row who wore Chelios’ USA Jersey, and that reminds me of the most hysterically mean thing that happened…
_And Scene:_
Blondie chicka, probably 29-30 years, in front row wearing Chelios USA jersey was standing next to me at end of game, Wings are handing out sticks as they enter the dugout…sadly not to me (I should not feel bad, but I can’t believe I blew my Wings swag karma on a hat when hockey sticks were in the offering)BACK to Blondie Cheli Chicka,
Here comes Chelios and he’s been surly with that area/group all day (There were some jerky Hawks fans saying bad stuff to him) but as he approaches the dugout, she is begging him for something or just screaming his name, hard to tell which, maybe both.
Cheli takes a look- I KNOW he can see her jersey with the big USA on it. He takes his glove off and stretches it out to hand it to her as he is about to disappear into the dugout. She scrambles, body outstretched over dugout roof. We are all excited, because OBVIOUSLY she is a real fan, when at the last second…
Cheli intentionally jerks it back, in a classic “psyche” and disappears into the dugout. The girl was left sprawled like Huet after Pasha’s deke across the blue Winter Classic logo painted on the dugout roof.
Don’t feel too bad for her, 3 minutes later she got Lidstrom’s game stick.
I’ll admit it, I was insanely jealous even though I was happy for her. But come on, I was right there too! What’s a girl gotta do to get a stick around there? Throw her beret in the air? (Thanks Mchi, for that inspiration)
Frankly, the fact that Andreas Lilja didn’t give me his stick is, well, its just depressing. True, true, if anyone had given me a hockey stick I’d probably just turn around and give it to some kid anyway, but it’s the thought that counts. Andreas…where’s the love?
During the game, nearly everyone in the section surrounding us was having a ball. Chants from Hawk fans prompted our response “We got the Cup” or “Lets Go Red Wings”. They said "Detroit Sucks" enough, I think they WANTED to hear how we have the cup. They liked it, or didn't know what it was. Hey, 1961 is quite a while back.
Whether wearing red and white or red and black, we were all laughing with each other and enjoying the moment. There wasn’t any animosity at all, as near as I could tell.
There were some curious characters to be sure. Like the guy who dressed head to toe in Rafalski gear, even down to the hockey pants, helmet and gloves; or the guy Jle liked best, wearing Red Wing snow pants and goal netting for a hat who refused to smile and kind of scared us; or the Hawks fan wearing dark sunglasses, sporting a Fu Manchu- those two facial "features" combined with his black hoodie and ear muffs, well. Nuff said, right?
While we did encounter some great Chicago fans- you know the kind that knew Jonathan Toews is the Blackhawks captain and those who wore Roenick jerseys, the bandwagon element present and I found myself wishing only true hockey fans were in attendance for this game, _people like you all_. Even though this was my Red Wings playing and an exciting Chicago team that is just starting to make noise in the League, _This_ was a game for real hockey fans, a game for the ages, if you will. And I wish you all had been there.
*THE GAME ITSELF: DO WE HAVE TIME FOR A MOVIE MONTAGE?*
Images of the game float randomly through my head, the way I hope they will when I’m 94 in my rocking chair at the “home”, wearing a Wingnut hat, a purple flower and tangerine orange lipstick, scaring the kiddies by taking my teeth out or just speaking my mind (because I NEVER do either of those things now…)
I don’t feel the need to recap because you all saw the game, and I didn’t do anything even remotely resembling analysis. Hey, I was there as a fan and well, the peppermint schnapps Jle and I added to our 3,4-6 hot chocolates was kicking my starved tush!
At the end of the first period, I had no worries though. Geez, we saw this same beginning not two days before. I was confident that my Wings would not fail. Although I did kind of get all homer-y at the break when I ran down to the dugout and as the boys came in, shouted “Shake it off boys” and “No worries!” and “We’ve got Spirit yes we do! We’ve got Spirit, How ‘bout you!”
Sorry I could not come up with a better cheer, I just don’t know any. Shut up its true. I have never been a cheerleader. I was too mouthy. No one likes a perky sassafrass.
*DRAPER FACE OFFS, DATSYUKIAN DEKES AND RUNNING GOALIES OUT OF NET, OH MY!*
As mentioned, our seats were too low to see ice surface and hence the puck. Yes you should feel very very (very)bad for us. I’ll give you take a moment to reflect on how pathetic our fortunes really are…
Take a potty break too while you are at it, I’ll wait. (Jooce stands there hands in pockets singing “Ain’t no potty like a Detroit potty, because a Detroit potty never stops.”
Better? Good. Where were we? Seats low, ice surface obscured. Being a “the Box is half full of Blackhawks” kind of girl, I took it as an opportunity to see if I could follow the game from the waist up.
Sounds dirty but it isn’t.
And it turns out to my delight, that I was able to identify certain characteristic Red Wings plays, set ups and opportunities without having to just follow the puck.
For instance, when Drapes took a face off, I knew if he won by where the Wings players would head.
And When Pasha started his “breakaway” in our own zone while everyone was worried about a possible turn over, I knew it and was able to catch the whole play, which by the way was so killer you need to watch it again.
Segue alert: Apparently at the exact same time Pasha was making his brilliant move, our good buddy Colin was tumbling backwards down the aisle-way. I didn’t see the fall, just the after math. However. Poor Jle was trying to get my attention to show me what happened to Colin and I “shushed” her.
WTF jooce!? Well technically not a “shush”, I just emphatically pointed to the Jumbotron with a stern look on my face and insisted she watch the two replays they were showing. She said later it was worth it, but I think it was kind of mean of me. Sorry Jle. You know how I get without food. It’s my only defense.
Still I probably don’t feel as bad as Huet felt at being run out of net. Wow. Listen Cristobal is a solid goal tender, HEDHS he had a GAA of 1.41 and a save percentage .947 in December! He is part of the reason I am at the top of my fantasy league. And yet, my Red Wings lit him up like he was hooking in the Chicago Levee.
*GAME OVER.WINGS 6-4. AFTER GLOW*
We didn’t want to leave. Really, we could not be moved. Neither Jle and I had used a restroom since 9 am though we had polished off 3,4,6 hot chocolates. But we didn’t want to leave the field. We weren’t the only ones.
The occasion to just look around once more at the emptying bleacher seats and rooftops, to see a Red Wing flag whipping from the top of the stadium, to watch the interviews and to chat with other people, please! Truth is, heading to the ladies' room would have meant leaving and an end to a surreal sentimental joyous heart bursting day.
So we lingered, congratulated the girl who got Lidstrom’s stick, took pictures of other fans with Jle’s amazing sign,
...got hit on (Yeeees there was a feisty architect that liked Jle- A LOT) Me? I met my share of slobbering drunks (Josh and Ladies' Restroom Guy, really sooo sorry I never got a chance to meet up with you after the bathroom, I don’t know WHAT happened.) Sorry, drunk guys are always great with the compliments, but I had priorities: eat. Pizza, get warm, eat. (42 hours and counting)!
3-4 pm central, we took one last look around and resignedly left our seats. One last stop and one more new friend to make:
We would have chatted with our new Blackhawk fan friend longer but they were pushing at us with brooms, plus hanging out in the ladies' room of a sports stadium after hours is weird.
As we made our way out of Wrigley, herded by surly workers who did not care about history making days, but only that they get home in time to watch “Cops: Southy Edition”, I fell silent for the first time all day, thinking about how much this game meant to me.
_So much in fact, that I was willing to fly thousands of miles, back into weather that I hated, spend money I shouldn’t be spending, and pay too much for seats that might not have afforded me any view of the game._
But we got incredibly lucky. This trip with jleWings could not have been more perfect. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate my mom giving me this wonderful gift. Mom, you are simply amazing and I love you to tears. (Alright, enough with the tears, I’m not even a crier for Homer’s sake).
So that is my story, I’m telling it with the hope of bringing a piece of our day to you, to share with all those I adore here at Connect. But just wait for jleWings - her blog is gonna put this one to shame.
Originally posted on Wednesday January 07, 2009 @ 01:44 AM EST at http://fans.nhl.com/members/JuiceinLA/boards/26640
Copyright 2009. All Rights Reserved. No use, distribution or publication without express written permission of the author.
Copyright 2009. All Rights Reserved. No use, distribution or publication without express written permission of the author.
1 comment:
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